


what could a lowly peasant being like myself offer a perfect pleasant savior of humanity

by barmaid



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, almost forgot that one oops, some type of makoto introspection... methinks...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barmaid/pseuds/barmaid
Summary: Makoto is just a little bit tired of the rain.Train thoughts accentuated by the pouring rain.
Relationships: Isara Mao/Yuuki Makoto
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	what could a lowly peasant being like myself offer a perfect pleasant savior of humanity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goblinchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinchan/gifts).



> thsknyou maomako nation

Makoto is just a little bit tired of the rain.

Catching the train home is just a little more frustrating, commuters packed uniformly shoulder to shoulder even in the gaps near the doors he hides in, and the window is just a little too foggy to take in the scenery outside as they hum past. Makoto is shoved further away from the window at each stop anyway, and he prays to nothing under his breath that he’ll have an exit by the time they get to his stop. He may not be in high school anymore, as much as he feels like he is, but his nails are still chewed down and shoes flat on the sole from fidgeting them against the floor. 

His prayers are answered at the last second, people filing out in large groups for the last few stops leading up to his, and Makoto sends up a bow of gratitude to the sky for not making him take the train to the end of the line again. The ride back would be twice as long if it keeps raining this hard, and he’d have to text Mao that everything was okay, (even if it wasn’t,) and he’d be stuck wedged between some white collar employees who don’t want to be there just as much as he doesn’t for an extra hour too long of his life. 

But Makoto is off the train, so he needs to stop spiraling into that train of thought before it starts feeling too real. The raindrops that hit his face when he clicks his umbrella open feel like a bucket of water has been dumped on his head, and he snaps awake before reaching into his pocket for his phone.

He flips it open to a few miscellaneous notifications that he doesn’t care too much about, and he tabs himself over to the messenger.

_ ‘sorry for running late!!!!!!!! its raining pretty hard and the station was packed （ ; ; ）’ _

Makoto sticks a hand out from under the awning, letting a few drops fall onto his palm before flipping his hand over. He watches idly as they race down his wrist, silently cheering for the one that’s further to his left. The droplets reach the finish line that is his elbow eventually, but Makoto is too zoned out at that point to declare a winner. His phone buzzes in his jacket pocket.

_ ‘Don’t apologize, you’re fine.’ _

Another message, a few seconds later.

_ ‘I’ll come pick you up. Give me a second. Dropping Hokuto off.” _

Makoto smiles down at his phone and takes his hand in from the rain, wiping the back of his palm on his pants. He clicks his umbrella in and retreats deeper back into the station, finding a semi-dry and uncrowded wall tucked behind a closed snack stand.

_ ‘drive safe !!!!! you dont need to put yourself in danger for me !!!!!!!!’ _

He knows in the back of his mind that Mao is going to scold him for a little self deprecating thought like that later, but sometimes he just can’t help it.

How did things get this good for him?

The stucco scratches Makoto’s back as he slides down the wall, and when the weight is off of his legs he realizes how badly he’s needed to sit down for the past few hours. His commute is only about an hour, but before that heー

He loves his job (and he knows how privileged he is to say that,) but he really needs to learn to pace himself better. His knee cracks as he tries to get comfortable, and Makoto winces despite the painlessness. He’s 22 and he’s already creaking because he gets too worked up over asking a client if they can  _ sit down _ and chat.

He stretches his legs out in defeat and opens up Breakout on his phone. His eyes follow the ball as it bounces up and down across the same maps he’s had memorized since he was five, and Makoto suddenly wishes he started bringing one of his handheld consoles along to work.

There’s been a steady flow of people at all times of his life on both sides of the aisle. ‘Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life!’ the angel on his shoulder says, ‘If you make your hobby your career you’ll never enjoy it again,’ the devil says.

Makoto is thankful to have found what he considers a happy medium, working at a company that specializes in games that aren’t his favorite genre, (he tends to go more for puzzle games or RPGs,) but the fear of oversaturation still looms heavy in his brain and keeps him from bringing his personal interests anywhere near work.

Makoto switches out of the Breakout application and goes back to his texts, checking the timestamps and comparing them to the big clock in the hall across from him. He knows Hokuto’s house is 7 minutes away from his house, and knows that their house is 12 minutes away from the station, so that should put Mao’s arrival at… sometime around now.

Like Mao could read his mind, his phone buzzes with a notification.

_ ‘Here parking its crowded” _

Makoto smiles down at his phone before pocketing it, pushing himself to his feet and slapping his umbrella against his thigh.

_ ‘stay right there ( ´_ゝ`) on my way from the food cart’ _

The rain is starting to slow a little bit from the time he spent inside, and the sun peeks out from its hiding spot behind the clouds. The street is still busy with commuters outside the station, but the whole world feels like it’s a little more energized by the sun.

Makoto is suddenly thankful for the bright orange car Mao bought just to have something with four wheels right when they got out of high school, because he spots him right away from where he’s sitting in the parking lot. Makoto has to refrain from wanting to call his name over all these people, but he still sends him a smile even if Mao isn’t looking directly at him.

Makoto thinks that like the sun shining upon all the commuters and bringing a smile to their face, Mao is his sun.

He toes his way across the parking lot, extremely wary of any cars that seem like they have disgruntled drivers. He taps on the door of Mao’s car, waving gently, and Mao sends him a smile before leaning over to unlock his door. It’s warm inside, and Makoto absentmindedly throws his umbrella onto the floor. It smells vaguely like oranges and carpet cleaner, and it’s a refreshing change from the musty aura of the train.

Mao leans over again, resting his arm on the center console, and this time uses the closed space to kiss Makoto. It’s soft and presented like a greeting, and Makoto feels his face heat up like he doesn’t kiss Mao at least ten times a day.

“Hi,” Makoto says, eloquently, because Mao has always been the one better with words and actions. 

“Hi there,” Mao replies with a grin before shifting into reverse. “Long day?”

“I think I’m tired of the rain.” Makoto gives as a non-answer, because his day is nearly the same every time Mao asks. “It feels so depressing.”

Mao hums in agreement, and Makoto’s face shakes over the bumpy gravel when he lays his face on the window. He follows the last droplets on the side as they race, similarly to how they ram down his arm, and this time he finds him rooting for the right.

“It looks like it’s dying down,” Mao offers as a solution, turning down his wipers. Makoto still sighs and closes his eyes.

The rain is much better when he doesn’t have to look at its impacts outside of his own little bubble, water tapping against the window and creating a symphony as they fall to the ground. It’s almost calming this way.

Makoto probably does something akin to falling asleep on the ride home, because when he wakes up what he assumes is 2 minutes later, Mao is nudging him and trying to get him out of the car.

Mao’s lips are warm on his forehead, and he snaps awake.

“Hi,” Makoto says, again, because it’s apparently the only word he knows.

“Hi,” Mao says, again, because he knows how to make Makoto feel like he isn’t the weird one here.

Makoto groans as he gets out of the car, leaving his umbrella to rot on the passenger floor and dragging his feet inside. The TV is on, and he doesn’t remember if he had left it on or if Mao had suddenly picked up an interest in Digimon. The opening plays in the background of his mind as he flops onto the couch, and maybe he  _ has  _ had a long day.

“Everything okay?” Mao asks as he walks over, leaning down to rub circles into Makoto’s back and run his fingers through his hair. Makoto sighs at the touch and sinks into the couch just a little more, pushing his glasses uncomfortably into the bridge of his nose.

“I’m good.” Makoto gives him, because he genuinely thinks he is (or somewhere close to it,) and he mumbles into the pillow. “Tired.”

Mao doesn’t respond to that one, and instead leaves a kiss on the nape of his neck. Makoto feels the couch shift with his weight by his feet, and Makoto feels very at home.

(In  _ their _ home that they’ve worked so hard to put together themselves, it should feel obvious. But it’s still comforting knowing he has a place, has  _ somebody  _ to come home to.)

(Makoto is still just a little bit tired of the rain, but Mao somehow seems to make the clouds part in the sky just for him.)


End file.
